


Rare Plants, Lewd Flowers & Lifestyles of the Ghoulish and Luxurious

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Witchering Pays but Botany Doesn't [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: And Geralt's begruding attendance, Gen, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, The Imperial Nilfgaardian Sorceress Lodge Summer Soltstice Fundraising Gala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: He’s been here 45 minutes and three different sorceresses have already tried to get him involved in their schemes. Five different individuals have cornered him in his various attempts to get at the buffet table to ask him about their research or to ask if he would be available to answer any of their questions for whatever bibliography they’re working on, and two people have tried to get him to give his support for the Fiend legislation Gors Velen is pushing.Yeah, right.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchering Pays but Botany Doesn't [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666258
Comments: 30
Kudos: 294





	Rare Plants, Lewd Flowers & Lifestyles of the Ghoulish and Luxurious

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, sorry for my radio silence -- please know that I see every single comment and tumblr ask, love it, cherish it, and will soon respond. I have just been going through it. General COVID-lockdown stress, work stress, family stress, general existential dread etc. I am generally pulling myself out of the mire, so hopefully will be back on track soon.

Geralt shifts in his black dinner jacket, and snags another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He’s been here 45 minutes and three different sorceresses have already tried to get him involved in their schemes. Five different individuals have cornered him in his various attempts to get at the buffet table to ask him about their _research_ or to ask if he would be available to answer any of their questions for whatever bibliography they’re working on, and two people have tried to get him to give his support for the Fiend legislation Gors Velen is pushing. 

Yeah, right. 

“Yes, thank you,” Geralt says as a waiter holds out a tray of some sort of little crackers with tiny little prawns on top, and takes the whole tray. The waiter blinks at him, a little unsure if he’s allowed to ask for it back and Geralt smiles with all his teeth. The waiter swallows and runs away. Geralt eats a few more shrimp things.

“Ah, Sir Geralt!” 

Oh fuck. _Sir_ Geralt usually meant someone was going to talk him to death about the Toussaint wine market. 

It takes him 50 seconds of being led around by the frail old hand of a dowager duchess resting on his elbow while she warbles at him for him to realize she has no interest in Corvo Bianco White. No, it’s much worse. She’s remembered that he is, _technically_ , due to some paperwork Ciri signed in the 16th century, the legal adoptive father of the Empress of Nilfgaard. 

Technically, Nilfgaard is a constitutional monarchy and parliamentary democracy. It has a Senate. It has an elected prime minister. It has, also, at the moment, a Crown Prince serving as Imperial Regent, although his powers are incredibly limited and he is mostly a figurehead. He’s…. Ciri’s…. Great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandson? 

He’s sort of an ass, but mostly a harmless and useless one, who keeps parrots in his palace, and the best thing Geralt can say about him is he's content to not interfere with the government of his country. Geralt has spoken to him twice, and never seen the need to continue the acquaintance beyond that. 

Technically, Nilfgaard still has an Empress, as well, but she stepped aside to let her children, and the children of her children, rule centuries ago as regents. Every once in a while she makes it into the paper -- she’s spotted having a coffee at some place in Cintra or Lyria. She’s photographed buying potting soil with her hair in a ponytail. Mostly the press leaves her alone. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Geralt says, “but I’m not really very connected to the royal family. I’m not sure I’d be much help to you.” 

“Pah,” the duchess says, staring down her nose at him, somehow, despite the fact that he’s well over a foot taller than her. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt replies. 

They stare at each other. She’s somehow led him out to a little enclosed garden, an interior courtyard. 

“What a lovely tree,” she remarks as they take a seat on one of the low stone benches. 

“Chiranthodendron pentadactylon.” 

“Is it?” She hums. “Lovely.” She pats his leg, a little higher up the thigh than Geralt feels is entirely proper. “So, we’ll expect you in a fortnight.”

“I really don’t…”

“I don’t need help talking to my idiot nephew. I need you to come take care of the barghests in the crypt underneath my solarium.” 

Geralt sighs. "I don't work for free." 

“Naturally, dear boy.” 

"Are you sulking?" Yen asks him, thirty minutes later, long after the Duchess has left and Geralt's all out of prawns. 

Geralt scoots over to make room from her on the bench. "Just trying to stay out of trouble. Why is Keira Metz trying to lure me into helping her with a power grab in Nazair? Can't she go try her wiles on Lambert?"

Yen yawns and leans against Geralt's shoulder. He lifts his arm up and snugs her in closer. "They're off again," Yen tells him. "I don’t think they're talking at the moment."

Geralt snorts, and lets Yen steal the last sip from his champagne glass.

"Do one of your videos about this tree," Yen tells him, and he grunts and fishes his phone out of his pocket. "I want to see." And he knows she means, _I want to see this version of you, this face I don't get to see, hear this Geralt that doesn’t mind talking._

There might have been a time in the past he wouldn't have wanted to; it would have felt too close, too much. But the centuries have worn the edges down where they fit together. He just shrugs out of his jacket, drops it by a ficus, and climbs up the tree. 

"Come on up," he tells her, holding a hand out. 

Yennefer of Vengerberg tosses her glossy black hair over her shoulder, flawless and polished in her shimmering black dress. She steps out of her stilettos, pulls her skirt up above her knees, gets a foot on the trunk and reaches out to his hand. He swings her up onto the branch next to him. 

"Don’t get my face--" Geralt warns her as he hands her his phone. 

"Oh, please, I know. Go on then, tell me about trees."

Geralt talks. He talks about the tree. About how old it is, this tree and the species. About where it's native to (Nilfgaard, not Vizima), about banquets and galas and the fucked up tax evasion of charity functions for rich people and the deforestation and suburban sprawl outside the city of Nilfgaard that's destroying this tree's habitat.

He stops talking, suddenly all out of words. Yen stops recording. Her eyes are sharp, fixed on him, face so open. Then she shakes it off, and laughs. " _That accent_ ," she laughs at him. "Geralt. You sound like…"

"I know, do you remember when he threatened to give Eskel a pair of cement shoes?" 

Yen laughs so hard she snorts. Then she starts nosing through his phone. 

"Can you not?" He tries to pry it out of her hands.

"Geralt, this famous little twink from your YouTube comments has sent you DMs."

"He’s not a twink." Geralt snatches his phone back from her. 

“He’s very pretty. He wants to know if you’ll be in Attre next week. He’s there for a show and he wants to see you _again_.”

Geralt grunts. He hadn’t planned on being in Attre, but there’s no reason why he can’t be. Be nice to see Ciri, anyway. 

Yen stares at him. “Try talking in a fake accent, that seems to make you more loquacious.” 

Geralt flicks a leaf at her and rolls his eyes. “I like him. He likes me, I guess. We met in Novigrad. It was nice.” 

Yen hums. “I want to meet him.”

“It’s too early. He’s an artist, you know the type, easy come and easy go. Give it half a century; if he’s still around you can meet him then.” 

“In fifty years he’ll be in his 70s, Geralt.” 

“Half-elf.”

Yen doesn’t say anything to that and just lifts her own phone. “Smile,” she says and leans in closer to him for a selfie. She tilts her phone to him and shows him the picture. He didn’t smile, mostly out of stubbornness, but then again neither did she. They’re both wearing Resting Bitch Face. The effect of their dual frowns makes him laugh. He watches her post it -- no text or hashtags of course, just the photo. Yennefer of Venngerberg doesn’t explain herself to the masses, not even on Instagram. 

Geralt jumps down out of the tree, eventually and helps Yen down. “I’m serious, Geralt, I want to meet him.”

“Any idea why the Duchess of Metinna wants me in Neunreuth?” He changes the subject. “She says she’s got a barghest problem, but that can’t be the only reason.” 

“I can look into it. When does she want you there?” 

Geralt shrugs, but it doesn’t make him choose his next words any less carefully. “Two weeks. I can push it off a little while maybe. I was thinking I’d head to Attre first.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this is in reference to an episode of the Crime Pays But Botany Doesn't channel of the same name. Geralt of Rivia isn't in that Youtube channel, but it's pretty great nonetheless.


End file.
